


Mercredi 8h45

by scatteredmoonlight



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Episode 6, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 19:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17924942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteredmoonlight/pseuds/scatteredmoonlight
Summary: His racing heart spurred him to write a text:I miss you. Did you go to Mass?He waited for her unintelligible religious ramble. As her apocalyptic delusions and the remaining ruins of his life collided, he might still have her. He needed to have her.





	Mercredi 8h45

**Mercredi 8h45**

Lucas stood on the outskirts of school at a meager pace from the gated entrance and found no will to move. His numbed fists were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket; the aching fingers of his good hand clutched his phone hard. He waited for a vibration of acknowledgment.

On the bus, he had scrolled through months of texts from his mother and her long blocks of unacknowledged words. As he saw the Saint Benoît stop approach, he remembered his pleas for recourse from Chloé, the prickling sensation of eyes and the whispers as he trekked through hallways, the neon rainbow stickers put on his locker overnight. His racing heart spurred him to write a text: _I miss you. Did you go to Mass?_

He waited for her unintelligible religious ramble. As her apocalyptic delusions and the remaining ruins of his life collided, he might still have her. He needed to have her.

He peered through the bars. He glimpsed Chloé with her fluffy black coat talking by a wall. Clear across on the other side of the yard, he caught sight of dark curly hair and frantic arms gesticulating as Basile recounted an inane factoid. He had avoided _les gars_ on Monday and on Tuesday despite Yann’s approach, but today he aimed to stand silently with them. He only had to make it through the gates.

He wondered if Eliott had come to school, and forcibly knocked that thought out of mind.

His phone vibrated. He whipped it out fast enough to somehow irritate his injured knuckles, but wasted not even a second hoping the wounds hadn’t reopened.

It might not even be his mother. But an app notification. A text from Imane to schedule studying in the library. Daphné with foyer business he would never care for. The battery dying.

But it was his mother.

_My dearest son, I miss you, too. I prayed for our souls at an evening Mass last night and thanked God for gifting me with you as my son. I love you._

The glass fogged up with the condensation from his sharp exhale. He blew cool air to clear it, memorizing the revealed message as he read it over and over. _I miss you, too_ , she wrote. _I love you._

She did not know everything about him. But he did not care.

He descended past the gates.


End file.
